Missives From The Mosh Pit Edge

PAIN have completed the first leg of their Coming Home Tour 2016 and now embark on a six date, co-headlining jaunt throughout Finland with native Industrial Metallers, Turmion Kätilöt. Both bands appear under the banner, ‘Har du horat runt på campingen?’

Are you whoring round the trailer park? 😳

From Helsinki Central I catch a train for the five hour journey North East to Kuopio. Last night I barely slept due to excitement, a hot, stuffy hotel room and a bar of chocolate at 2am. The train is also hot and stuffy; the air is dry, making my throat rasp and my skin parch. I board as a freshly picked plum, get off as a dried up ol’ prune. Yeah, I’m feeling good.

Reaching Kuopio, it is already dark and a great relief to be outside in the fresh mid-afternoon air. Ignoring the line of waiting taxis, I wade through slushy puddles, guided by my hand drawn map to The Finlandia Hotel. I know where I’m going, it takes twenty minutes. Forty minutes later I discover the hotel is no longer there and, in fact, the entire street has disappeared. Oh my God, here we go, same old song. Am I even in Kuopio? I look around in a state of disbelief and resort, as ever, to accosting a passer-by who points behind me, ‘ That way, you idiot.’ Kiitos!

Check in, drop bag, straight out on a recce.

Henry’s Pub, tonight’s venue, is in the basement of a larger establishment which has a welcoming, amber glow like a vintage British boozer, most inviting on this bitter November night. Walking past, I recognise a young woman with purple hair and a young man from the show in Stockholm huddled in the doorway, sheltering from the freezing wind. Hours till opening time, they wait to meet the bands and claim front of stage positions. Horns up and much respect, fellow Painheads, you are far hardier than me.

🤘Poster in Henry’s Pub window🤘

With the Tour Budget depleting rapidly, I have been forced to make a few essential amendments in order to keep the show on the road, so to speak. Increasing travel allowance marginally whilst slashing catering expenditure means I will take taxis instead of wasting time wandering around like a fool but will no longer indulge in trips to delicatessens or sleep through breakfast.

The former agreement was, of course, reneged the moment I stepped off the train and figured I knew the way to The Finlandia. Compliance with the latter, however, is confirmed by the purchase of rye rolls, sliced Gouda and a jar of pesto from a supermarket close to Henry’s.

I also pledge to be less Mumsy 👍 and more Metal 👊 which will begin as soon as I’ve had complimentary early evening tea and biscuits back at the hotel.

So, here we are; Earl Grey, Jammy Dodgers, iPad, Henry’s Facebook page, tonight’s itinerary in Finnish; hit translate, PAIN onstage at 9pm, followed by Turmion Kätilöt. There is no way I will get anywhere near the front tonight, it’s a sell out show, it will be packed. No chance of touching metal, no hope of seeing the pimple on Mr Tägtgren’s chin.

Arriving at the venue just before 8pm, I find only a handful of people waiting by the entrance instead of the crowd I had anticipated. Facebook got it wrong; doors open at 9, PAIN onstage at 10. Oh God, I now have no choice. I’m here. I can almost smell the Clearasil. I’m not leaving.

Ignoring my protesting knees, I join the Diehards; gloves on, hood up, bracing myself against the harsh wind sweeping in from the Siberian Tundra. It instantly snatches away any remaining warmth held inside a fleecy jumper and heavy jacket. We are silent; it’s too cold for conversation. It’s snowing and I’m chilled to the bone, shivering. Metal-up, woman! 👊 Time passes agonisingly slowly by; my face numbs, fingers curl into claws, fallen snowflakes cling to my jacket. Tick, tick, tick, I feel each second fly wildly into the night upon every freezing gust howling down the alley.

At last, to great sighs of relief, the door is hauled open. There’s a flutter of tickets as they emerge from pockets and bags, and downstairs we creak into reception. Jackets off, tickets checked. Quickly! The hand-inking man indicates the way to the bar. Oh, no thank you, kiitos, I’m wasting not one nanosecond as I home in on FRONT OF STAGE!! OMG!! OH MY GOD!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!

The stage is twenty centimetres high, in a corner and has a wobbly barrier stuck on the front. There’s a one metre gap at each side of the stage where the barrier falls short and it is in the left gap, natch ( P&C Kerrang circa 1980s), that I find myself standing, eyes wide, mouth agape, in shock. I place my right arm on metal as a balance and gaze longingly at a leather bench running along a wall by the drum kit. It distracts me from the deafening rush inside my head. How did this happen? Oh my God. OH MY GOD! I exchange a few words with a Finnish man standing next to me; he is tattooed, pierced, shaven-headed, quietly spoken and very nice.

Then resumes the long, nail-biting, joint-aching wait.

I suddenly feel nervous about the show; the fourth consecutive gig standing under their noses. Technically, I’m right at the front but actually, I’m one short step from being on the stage itself, one bunny hop from Wonderland, one tiny skip from being rugby tackled by a crew member and ejected from the building by scruff of neck. I couldn’t be closer if I perched myself on the drum riser and cracked open a bottle of champagne.

Logic dictates that if, from brief glances through the crowd at previous gigs I recognise people around me, the band will do the same from ninety minutes upon a stage every night watching us watching them. I think of Pär Sundström in Würzburg, Leipzig and Stockholm; London Man in Stockholm, The Girl With Purple Hair & Friend in Sweden then Finland, and others I saw in Aalborg then Gothenburg. Logic.

I’m not surrounded by the usual mayhem and have neither the security nor cover of a close-knit crowd. Recognition is absolutely not what I sought but I cannot and will not resist the lure of the front row; there’s nothing like it, it’s a rare privilege, a source of great happiness and one I am not giving up. They probably think I’m weird. Oh God, am I? I can no longer tell. Should I remain in such a prominent spot?

Hell yeah! FFS, they’re in a Metal Band, they can handle it 👊. Good evening, Mr Idol, here we f***ing go again!

Oh my God, this is madness! It’s like watching PAIN rehearse in their garage! I stand in awe of the spectacle presenting itself directly, immediately, in front of me; it is gob-smackingly, jaw-droppingly incredible. Almost embarrassed, I hardly know where to look. When Mr Skaug performs his Mopping The Floor headbanging tour de force I feel the breeze wafting from his mane; when Misters Tägtgren and Andersson stand before me, their guitars inches from my face, I watch, close up, with absolute joy, the fingers that play the instruments that make the sound that gives us hope and makes us glad to be alive.

I do wonder, however, with more than a little concern, if the band are also a bit rattled by the close proximity to the audience. So, in order to ease their worries, I decide to avoid prolonged staring at faces, bums, and pimples on chin.

Playing a set shortened to accommodate two co-headliners, the PAINshow cruises at warp speed; the thumping, hypnotic, cacophony overpowering the captive audience. Volume cranked through the red, phasers set tae Malky, the Painheads are stunned into blissful submission.

A magical, extraordinary evening, it will remain in the hearts and memories of all fortunate to have been there, especially those at the front who now stand drained and emotionally whiplashed by the four Scandinavian Masters of Metal ( there, I said it 😜 ).

Now, two choices. Either I leave immediately, return to The Finlandia; cup of tea, Instagram, YouTube, early night, wake at 6am feeling rested and ready to face the long day ahead or stay, get a drink from the bar for the first time ever at a gig on my own, rejoin the crowd at the back of the venue, get blasted by Turmion Kätilöt, return late to The Finlandia, bed at 4am, up at 6 feeling like a total zombie and sleepwalk through the next twenty four hours. Hmmmm. Let me think. That’ll be a tall Diet Coke, please. With ice? Lovely 👊.

Turmion are totally mad and absolutely brilliant. I love them instantly. They look seriously deranged and sound like the Saturday night disco in a residential correctional facility for the criminally insane. I’m not sure what they sing about but I get the impression it isn’t strawberry cupcakes and fluffy bunny wabbits.

I watch the show from a safe, Mumsy distance. It’s great to see the audience participate, hear them sing the rousing choruses, feel the love; but in my heart I think, hmmm, given a choice, I’d rather be down the front. Feel the wind when someone does a head spin, duck when a guitar swings your way, sing when a microphone is thrust in your face, embrace the madness, embed the memory in your brain, take photos, clips, make this last forever.

This time, I don’t stay till the end. I slowly finish my drink, have another then head back to the hotel. My mind buzzes with thoughts of the evening’s events and the discovery that, amongst the mayhem, I felt safe in a pub on my own. Should there be another late bar tomorrow night I shall have a beer after the show 👊😄.

Of course I’m still wide awake at 4am then too scared to sleep incase I don’t hear the alarm go off two hours later.

My train leaves before 8am, destination Oulu, with a small but wonderful diversion on the way. Ho, Ho, Ho. 🎅